


To Hold a Star

by Rubynye



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:26:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam holds a star in his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Hold a Star

**Author's Note:**

> The underlined words are quotations from Tolkien, as if you couldn't tell.

_ **To Hold a Star** _

Slowly, Frodo raised the Phial, the gift of Galadriel, Lady of the Wood. Sam shivered behind him, focusing his eyes on the thick darkness, straining his ears to listen for the Thing that stalked them, over the pounding of his own terrified heart. The Star-glass began to glow, faint as a candle at a distance, faint as their hope; then Frodo inhaled, and through their joined hands Sam could feel him square his shoulders, and the Phial flared to full life, clear light spilling between Frodo's fingers and pushing back the darkness. A cluster of malicious eyes glittered out of the dark, held at bay for a moment by the radiance.

"_Aiya Earendil Elenion Ancalima!_" Frodo cried, standing forth like the hero of a mighty tale, and Sam felt hope flare within his breast as light had flared in the Star-glass; Frodo had mastered the creature that stalked them, Frodo would save them from this horrible dark place and bring them back to the light. Sam looked from the Star-glass to Frodo's pale, silvered cheek, and felt love surge with the hope.

However, the glittering eyes were only cowed for a moment. Slowly, dreadfully, they loomed closer and closer. His breath stopping in his throat, drawing his sword with a trembling hand, Sam almost shrank back, but Frodo stood firm; he pulled his hand from Sam's to take the Phial in it, drawing Sting with his other hand, and it glittered like _mithril_ in the Star-glass' light, blue fire flaring along its edges. A star in one hand and a sword in the other, Frodo stepped forward, steady and strong, beautiful and terrible in the silver light, and the glittering eyes shrank and dimmed and sank away into the darkness.

"Master, master!" cried Sam, his heart glowing with the Phial's light and Frodo's courage. "Stars and glory! But the Elves would make a song of that, if ever they heard of it!" Frodo smiled at that, Sam could see it in the curve of his cheek, even though he didn't turn, and that smile seemed to Sam to shine nearly as brightly as the Star-glass. "And may I live to tell them and hear them sing." Frodo took another step forward, and Sam's glowing pride cracked a little, threading with caution and fear; he stepped forward to lay his free hand on Frodo's arm. "But don't go on, master! Don't go down to that den! Now's our only chance. Now let's get out of this foul hole!" Frodo turned to him now, the smile fading into seriousness, and nodded and fled, Sam close behind him.

 

 

Sam remembered that moment often, even by choice. Not the moments before, and certainly not the moments after; those returned to him only unbidden, to be pushed away in the daytime, to haunt him in dark dreams that thrust him sweating from sleep. When Sam woke from such dreams he would lean over Frodo, touch him gently and kiss his pale cheek and curl more tightly around his living warmth, reassuring himself that Frodo was alive and with him, that they had somehow, impossibly, won through and survived. Not least at such moments, Sam cherished that one bright memory of Frodo with a star in his hand, shining with power, one moment of light amidst fear and pain and darkness.

Sam remembered it now, as he sat up in bed on a clear night, the moon a shining crescent and the starlight pouring over their bed, as he watched Frodo sleep. The dark curls framed a face that had always been pale and now almost shimmered sometimes, a faint inner light shining from within. Frodo's scratches and wounds were healed now, a month after their awakening, but he was still paler than ever and thinner than ever and somehow even more beautiful than ever. Restraining his hands and lips, lest he wake Frodo, Sam caressed his master with his eyes, dark curls and pale face and slender throat, collarbone sharp and vulnerable at the gap in the nightshirt, the wounded hand, now nearly healed, lying on the pillow. He thought of that pale face radiant and brave in Shelob's dark lair, and how blessed he was to see Frodo now peacefully asleep beside him, and pushed away a tear with the back of his hand.

Frodo sighed, and his lips curved up gently. "I can feel you watching me, Sam" he said, his voice little more than a breath. Once Sam might have asked, "sir, did I wake you?"; now he smiled in return, and set his hand free to stroke Frodo's cool shining brow. "You're fair to the eye, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo opened his own eyes at that, blue star-fire in the soft light, and his smile widened and warmed as he stretched out his arm. "So are you, my Sam," he said, curling his hand around Sam's shoulder, three fingers and a thumb leaving their individual warm dents in Sam's flesh as Frodo pulled Sam down to him, as Sam leaned down to give and receive a gentle kiss.

"Mmm, Sam." Frodo's fingers wound into Sam's hair, a little less gentle. "I'm not sleepy, Sam. Are you?"

"Oh, I'm wide awake, me dear," Sam murmured against Frodo's mouth, lying down beside him. Frodo's lips curved against Sam's as he kissed him again, winding his limbs warmly around him; Sam opened his eyes as they kissed, looking at Frodo in the moonlight, at the silvery glow on his closed eyes, the night-dark of his long lashes on his cheekbone. Then Frodo parted his lips over Sam's, working the kiss deeper, and Sam's eyes fell closed as he surrendered his mouth to Frodo's gentle invasion; even so, it seemed to Sam that clear light glowed through his eyelids, like sunlight on closed eyes but cooler, silver rather than gold.

Frodo gave a sweet little moan, pulling himself over atop Sam, straddling one of Sam's thighs and kissing him with rising warmth, with some of the beloved bossiness of old. Sam slid his hands up Frodo's body, from thighs to nape, pushing the nightshirt up as his hands slid over the dear, familiar skin, over the muscles and the whip-scar, the too-prominent ribs and the spider bite and the long beautiful neck, finally tangling in soft dark curls. Taking a steadying breath, Sam gently lifted Frodo's head up a bit, his fingers caressing individual circles, his thumbs stroking Frodo's eartips. He opened his eyes to find Frodo looking at him with parted lips and flushed, glowing cheeks, his eyes so wide and luminescent that Sam felt he could fall into them and float in light. "Oh, Mr. Frodo, you're so fair," Sam gasped, before managing to remember why he'd stopped the kiss. "So very beautiful. Are you sure, tonight?"

"Oh, Sam," Frodo replied with smiling indignance, for a moment the delightfully bossy hobbit Sam had first lain with; but then Frodo blinked, and his eyes grew sad, and all they'd been through came back into those eyes so that Sam's heart ached just to watch the change. "Oh, Sam. You're right to ask, but yes, yes, I'm sure. I'm up for it tonight." The smile broadened into wickedness as Frodo bore down so that Sam gasped, feeling how sure Frodo indeed was, and grinned in return, and pulled Frodo's head back down to his.

This time Frodo broke their kiss, but only to pull his nightshirt up over his head with his right hand, his left still curved around Sam's shoulder. "Mmm, you're overdressed," Frodo murmured, slipping his fingers inside the neck of Sam's nightshirt to trace along Sam's collarbone. Sam smiled, but then he gasped when Frodo tucked his head beneath Sam's chin to lay his tongue to the hollow of Sam's throat, remaking with licks and kisses what he'd explored with his fingers. Sam quivered with the effort of not clenching his hands in Frodo's hair and felt himself harden almost to painfulness as Frodo started to bite him gently, lapping at each nip before kissing his way to another spot.

Frodo lifted his head, and Sam made a little protesting sound before he could catch himself, and Frodo chuckled. "I told you you're overdressed," he said, sliding his hand along Sam's side to his hem, but Sam's hands got there first, and Sam arched up against him, prompting Frodo's own moan, as he wrenched off the nightshirt. "Why do we wear these, anyway?" Frodo gasped, laying himself down atop Sam, warm skin to warm skin, heart to heart.

"It's proper." Sam was just as breathless, his hands on Frodo's hips, sliding up and around. Frodo favored him with a shining smile and kissed him again, open-mouthed and hot now, one hand in Sam's hair, masterful and caressing at once as Frodo kissed his way along the line of Sam's jaw. "Mmm," Sam murmured when the insistent hand eased but did not release him, "how do you want this?"

Frodo buried his face in Sam's neck, shaking with something other than arousal, and Sam stroked his hair with one hand as the other lay on his back, behind his heart, over the whip scar. "Nothing too much," Frodo whispered in Sam's ear, and Sam nodded, remembering the terrible night when they had discovered one more aftereffect of the Ring, how reminiscent too strong a pleasure could unfortunately be of the pleasures It had afforded. "I'm your Sam," he whispered, and smiled when he felt Frodo's shaking ease, felt Frodo's smile curving against his ear before Frodo licked it.

Sam rolled himself and Frodo onto their sides, still entangled, and traced with two blunt fingers the point and curve of Frodo's ear, the curve of jaw and point of chin. Frodo lay smiling and still beneath the caress until the fingers skimmed up to the other side of his chin; then with a quick toss of his head Frodo captured those fingers and sucked them into his mouth, winding his tongue around them, his eyes flickering open to regard Sam with delight. Sam felt his eyelids fluttering, as he tried to return that steady gaze but his eyes tried to roll back with the pleasure; then one of Frodo's wandering hands slid over his hip, up along his length, and around in a tingling circle, and Sam arched into that touch and moaned, his eyes indeed falling shut. Frodo eased Sam's hand out of his mouth and laid that mouth to Sam's neck as he brought the now-wet hand down to where he wanted it.

Sam chuckled breathlessly, matching rhythms. "I feel like a tween," he whispered, and Frodo puffed a little laugh against his neck, sliding his other hand down to the small of Sam's back. "Taking each other in hand in a nook or hayrack, rushing before a gaffer or a sib catches us."

"Ah, but we have all night." Frodo kissed beneath Sam's chin, and Sam tilted his face to catch Frodo's mouth; kissing warmly, they tangled so closely their hands hardly had room to move, legs entwined and free arms embracing each other. Sam eased his eyes open to look at Frodo's face, barely as far away as his nosetip, his eyes closed again and his lips parted as he relaxed into Sam's arms, into pleasure. His hands occupied, Sam stroked that beautiful, beloved face with his eyes, gaze skimming like light fingers from tousled curls at Frodo's brow to high cheekbones to a mouth at once petal-like and firm, and back again to those eyes, now veiled by and moving behind their long-lashed lids, but always there, like stars behind clouds.

Frodo opened those eyes as if he'd heard Sam's thought, his pupils dilated with more than dark; Sam caught his breath with a little gasp, and Frodo smiled and kissed his nose. "I can still feel you gazing at me," Frodo whispered fondly; then he disentangled himself a bit, unwrapping his arm from around Sam as he turned on his back to reach for the nightstand, careful of the book atop it. "I think we could use--there." Frodo turned back with a small bottle of oil in his hand, its cork wedged loosely enough to be dislodged with a careful thumbnail. "Sam, give me your hand."

"I'd as soon not let go," Sam murmured, feeling his face warming to pink, basking in Frodo's answering grin. "Well, then, here," Frodo replied, chuckling, as he brought his oily hands down around Sam's; Sam got the bottle corked again before too much oil escaped, and Frodo put it behind him without looking, for Sam to find the next morning. Four slick hands twined in unison now; Frodo hooked his legs up behind Sam's knee and Sam hooked the other foot behind Frodo's thighs, shuddering as a fingernail drew a gently sparking circle in a very sensitive place. "Ah," Sam gasped, thinking, _me dear_ but a bit too far gone to actually speak anymore.

"Yes, my Sam," Frodo moaned in reply, his breath warm on Sam's face; Sam smiled and gasped and kissed him again, a little more roughly than he'd meant to, but Frodo's moan was appreciative, and he nipped Sam's upper lip and pushed the kiss deep again, and Sam lost himself to the kiss and the entangled embrace and the stroking pleasure that sent starlight burning through his veins.

Frodo was moaning ceaselessly now, his lips trembling; eagerly, Sam pulled him closer yet with his legs, and Frodo made a noise that would have been a word if his mouth had been free, trembling more and more and then going rigid for a breathless moment. Sam pried his eyes open once more to watch Frodo's flushed and glowing face, already sinking down into a relaxed smile, before his own peak pushed through him, pushing his eyes closed and his spine arched and all thought from his light-washed mind.

Sam just lay for long moments, drifting, feeling his heart and Frodo's beating with life as if they might touch through thin skin and translucent flesh. Finally, though, he had to unwrap his fingers and limbs, had to stir, stretch and reach for a discarded nightshirt, which made Frodo laugh at the touch, eyes still closed.

When those little tasks were done Sam licked his fingers to make sure they weren't sticky, tasting the faint salty bitterness of life, then reached out to cup Frodo's face in his hands. Frodo smiled, breathless and beautiful and so radiant Sam fancied he saw light leaking between his fingers. "What are you thinking of, Sam?" Frodo whispered as he raised a hand to tangle fingers with Sam's, and Sam found that what was in his mind was his other cherished memory of light. "A fair morning in Ithilien, Frodo," he said, and Frodo smiled a bit more to hear Sam leave off the honorific. "You were asleep, and a light shone through you, and you were wondrously fair with it. I looked at you, and thought of how I love you, and how I had no words fit to say it."

"You say it beautifully, Sam. You always do." Frodo opened his eyes, smoothing the other hand, the injured one, over Sam's brow and along his cheek. "And I love you."

Sam smiled, heart too full for words, and kissed Frodo one more time before releasing him and yawning. "I think I'm sleepy now, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, a hint in his voice, and Frodo laughed and closed his eyes, laying his head on Sam's shoulder. "So am I," he agreed, his breathing already slowing. Sam wrapped his arms around Frodo and drifted off to sleep, feeling as if he held a star in his hands.


End file.
